


Funeral March

by avantegarda



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Modern AU, Superheroes, This is woefully self-indulgent, and mentions of scary supervillain violence, i have no more ideas for this au it's just this thing right here, i just was in a superhero mood what can i say, rated for language, vaguely inspired by the umbrella academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avantegarda/pseuds/avantegarda
Summary: Seven superpowered siblings under one roof can only be a recipe for disaster. Especially this time.





	Funeral March

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I hereby accept that my place in this fandom is to make ridiculous AUs no one asked for.  
> This is somewhat darker and more dramatic than what I usually write and has almost nothing to do with how I usually picture and portray this family, but apparently when I'm stressed out I'm in the mood for dysfunctional superheroes, who knew?  
> In case you're wondering, yes I DID come up with superhero nicknames for the entire family, and yes I AM going to tell you them now.  
> No. 1/Maedhros/“The Shield”  
> No. 2/Maglor/“The Voice”  
> No. 3/Celegorm/“The Arrow”  
> No. 4/Caranthir/“The Glare”  
> No. 5/Curufin/“The Magnet”  
> Nos. 6&7/Amrod and Amras/“The Mirrors”  
> And their parents, Nerdanel, "The Boulder", and Fëanor, "The Flame"

Home hadn’t changed since they had last been there, not in the slightest. The doors with their elaborate facial scanners remained as tightly locked as ever, the multitude of family portraits still stared down from the walls disapprovingly, and evidence of Caranthir’s childhood temper tantrums remained in the form of two neat, round holes burned into various surfaces around the house.

Only one thing about the house had changed, and that was the fact that their grandfather was dead.

Six out of seven the sons of the house had gathered in the living room, moving little and saying less. Amrod and Amras, certainly, could very well have been talking, but whatever they were discussing, the thoughts they beamed to each other remained un-intercepted by their brothers. The rest, meanwhile, sat, and stared, and drank.

Curufin perched awkwardly on an overstuffed velvet arm chair, fiddling with a paper clip he’d pulled out of his pocket. As he gazed at it, the wire twisted itself into the shape of a flower, then a star, then an eye, before he looked away and it collapsed back into its original form. “Who are we still waiting for?”

“Maglor’s on his way from the train station,” Maedhros replied, glancing at his phone. “Says he’ll be here soon.”

“And Mom?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Caranthir said, pouring himself yet another glass of whiskey from the bar cart. “She made it pretty clear that if she has to be in the same room as Dad for more than ten minutes she’ll bring an avalanche down on his head, and if they start fighting Dad will probably burn down the entire neighborhood. She’ll send us a nice card, though. Sent me one when I got my CPA license without incinerating anyone.”

“We got one when we started college,” the twins chorused, before turning back to their silent conversation.

Curufin looked as though he was about to make a remark, but was interrupted by the sound of the front door creaking open. Moments later they were greeted by the sight of their second-oldest brother, a guitar on his back and a suitcase in his hand.

“Hello, everyone,” Maglor said softly, setting down his bag. “Wish I was seeing you all under better circumstances.”

Maedhros pulled Maglor into his arms, patting him firmly on the back. “It’s good to see you, Mags. Glad you could come.”

“Are you kidding? They couldn’t keep me away. Course, it helps that my next tour isn’t scheduled until three weeks from now.”

“Well, well, look who’s here!” Celegorm drawled, not rising from where he was draped over the couch. “The celebrity himself! We’re  _ honored  _ you came.”

Maglor wrinkled his nose. “You’re drunk, is what you are.”

“Grandpa’s dead, I think I’ve got a good excuse to be as drunk as I damn well please. But enough about me, what have you been up to since you last graced us with your presence? Still manipulating record producers into thinking you’re brilliant?”

“I don’t do that anymore, Celegorm,” Maglor said, voice lowering dangerously. “Any success I have is because I am  _ talented,  _ not because I use my powers.”

“Sure, sure. You know, I play your new album at the ranger station to scare away bears? They think you’re a coyote, I’ve asked them.”

“Boys, please, stop,” Maedhros pleaded. Neither his second nor third brother listened, as they continued to glare at one another.

“At least I don’t spend my days hiding in a forest like I’m goddamned Rapunzel,” Maglor hissed. “At least most of the rest of us have actually  _ contributed  _ something to society, with or without using our powers. At least we’re not  _ ashamed  _ to be part of this family.”

Celegorm leapt to his feet, teeth bared, grabbing Maglor by the collar of his expensive vintage jacket. “You take that back, you bastard. You know damn well why I stay away. It’s for everyone’s safety. When we’re together,  _ bad things happen.” _

_ “ENOUGH!” _

Maglor and Celegorm flew apart as though pulled by magnets, each landing with a thump some feet away from each other. Maedhros stood between them, face contorted in rage, the remnants of a faint golden glow fading from his hands. “I will  _ not  _ put up with this shit at Grandpa’s funeral. I won’t have it, you hear me? Whatever happened all those years ago, it’s done. Over.” His voice softened. “Can’t we just be here for each other, please? And for Dad? He’s got to be suffering even worse than we are.”

Maglor dragged himself to his feet with a sigh, violently pinning an escaped lock of hair back into his bun. “Fine. Anything to make this weekend less of an ordeal. Friends?”

Celegorm scowled and took another swig of his beer, before shaking Maglor’s proffered hand roughly. “Fine. Friends. But if you even  _ think  _ about enchanting me into giving you all my dessert like you used to do when we were kids, I’ll get a flock of bats to eat your guitar.”

“That seems fair.”

“Good. You’re all here.”

None of the boys had heard their father enter the room, but at the sound of his voice they froze, dropping back into their various seats. Fëanor’s gaze swept the room, his expression unfathomable. “I suppose you boys are wondering why I called you here.”

“We’re not wondering that at all,” Caranthir said. “We’re here for Grandpa’s funeral. That was made very clear.”

“Indeed. And do you know how your grandfather died?”

“Yes, Dad, we all read the papers,” replied Maglor with a sigh. “Heart condition. We all knew he had one, it was only a matter of time, tragic as it is. Is this going somewhere?”

“It is. Because it wasn’t a heart attack. It was murder.”

Celegorm set down his beer with a thud. “Nope. I’m not doing this, Dad. This paranoia thing was funny at first, but it’s not anymore. Uncle Fingolfin  _ isn’t  _ out to get you, the government  _ isn’t  _ spying on us through Netflix, and Grandpa died of a  _ heart condition.  _ Get that through your head.”

“I had to tell the papers something plausible so they’d stop hounding me. It was his heart, yes. But I did my own autopsy, and I’d like you to tell me what kind of heart attack can burn a man’s heart to ash inside his own chest.”

Silence fell, so absolute it was as though time had frozen. Fëanor looked at the shocked faces of his children with grim satisfaction. “There is only one person who could have done this. Only would person who would have the ability and the sheer  _ nerve.” _

Maedhros’ hands twisted nervously in his lap. “We’re not here for a funeral, then, are we.”

“Oh, we are,” Feanor said, his index finger glowing with just the hint of a flame. “But not just for your grandfather. If Melkor doesn’t want a funeral of his own, he’d better start running.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for tolerating this. I promise, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled Wodehousian Comedy Shorts very soon.
> 
> And! And! I wanted to let you guys know that I AM on Tumblr, and my username IS the same there as it is here, and I DO want you to come say hi and message me with your silliest headcanons.


End file.
